


Wrecked

by wbss21



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Abandonment, Child Abuse, Depression, Isolation, Neglect, Physical Torture, Psychological Torture, Vegeta's Childhood, Violence against Children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 05:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10960752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: Vegeta stands beside his father, arms folded tight over his chest, glaring deathly and unflinching up at the bizarre creature who has come to their home world, has been here the last several weeks, holding court with the King of Vegetasei, private meetings and sessions which the prince himself has not been allowed to attend.





	Wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> AN: So, for whoever may be reading my other story “Places That We Knew”, I've decided to split the flashback scenes in that story into it's own, separate story that I'm going to be posting here. The story will continue and will follow Vegeta through his childhood and into young adulthood. Just a warning, this story will contain graphic scenes of child abuse and violence against a minor. With that in mind, I hope whoever reads it is able to get something from it and if you have a chance, please leave me a review, as it will help me to be inspired to continue.

“How old is the boy?” 

Vegeta stands beside his father, arms folded tight over his chest, glaring deathly and unflinching up at the bizarre creature who has come to their home world, has been here the last several weeks, holding court with the King of Vegetasei, private meetings and sessions which the prince himself has not been allowed to attend.

Vegeta had expected his father to do away with the lizard-like buffoon by now, as he always did with any who came not knowing their place. 

Only, when he had asked his father about it finally, only yesterday, the king had snapped at him, had lifted a hand, reared back, as though he were going to slap him.

Father had slapped him before, when Vegeta hadn't done as he was told, or hadn't shown sufficient progress in his training...

Still, a slap from the most powerful warrior among the Saiyan people was an awful experience, and Vegeta had flinched back, frightened, shame burning his face for the way he coward, but he couldn't help it.

Only his father hadn't slapped him. He'd kept his hand raised for long seconds, staring at his only son with a look upon his face which Vegeta did not recognize, and that, somehow, had frightened the boy only more.

“You remember our discussions boy?” The King had finally spoken, lowering his arm. “You remember of the legend I've spoken to you? The legend of the Super Saiyan?”

Vegeta had nodded, a familiar sense of awe and wonderment filling him, as always did whenever Father spoke of the legendary Super Saiyan. Whenever Father told him that he and he alone would be capable of achieving such power.

“You show such great promise Vegeta. Your power already greater than most of my armies military elite. The day is not long in coming when your power will surpass even my own.”

Vegeta had swallowed hard at the constant reminder, the constant expectation.

He still could not dream of such a possibility. That anyone could ever be stronger than his father. 

“You will one day become the savior of our people, my son. If ever I have believed in anything, it is in that. It is in you.”

Vegeta hadn't understood the odd show of sentiment. Hadn't understood the emotion in his father's voice, when his father had always been so hard... so cold.

The king had told him then that there was to be one final meeting with Freiza, the name of the creature who had come to their world, before the being finally departed back into space. Vegeta had felt an odd relief at the news. Though he had never had direct contact with the lizard, only seen him in glimpses and at a distance, behind closing doors, there was something about him which had unsettled the prince... had made him feel something too much like fear. He didn't understand why. His father could have destroyed whoever was foolish enough to make threats against their people. 

As he hadn't understood when the king had told him he would be needed tomorrow in the final meeting with Freiza. 

Was Father finally going to challenge the creature to battle? Did he wish Vegeta to prove himself a capable warrior by fighting beside him? He was nearly five, nearly of an age when Saiyan warriors were considered ready for active combat.

He's pulled from his recent memories by the sound of his father's voice, answering Freiza's question.

“The boy is four, eight moon cycles from five.” The King says.

Vegeta struggles against the urge to grab hold of his father's hand, to hide himself behind him as the creatures red, pinpoint eyes bore into him, an unpleasant smile twisting his purpled lips, his face white as death.

Instead the prince stands his ground, forcing himself to look back, defiant and disgusted. 

Why does the lizard-thing need to know his age anyway?

Why is he interested at all?

“Very good.” Freiza replies, voice smooth and soft, his smile widening as he continues to regard Vegeta. “Very, very good.”

The creature takes a step forward then, towards him, and Vegeta feels his father stiffen beside him, sees him step to put himself between Freiza and his son.

It's an absolute shock, then, when the lizard reaches out and shoves the king aside as easily as one might a child, Vegeta's father stumbling as he loses his balance, leaving the boy exposed to Freiza's approach.

Vegeta stands frozen a moment, his mind blanking out as he struggles to understand what just happened.

It's all the time necessary for the creature to close the small distance between them, and in the next instant, he has his hands on Vegeta, taking hold of his chin and jerking his head up to look at him.

Vegeta instinctively tries to pull away, a snarl coming up from his throat, the words forming on his tongue, ready to demand from the lizard how he dare to place his filthy hands on the Prince of the Saiyan people. Only the words die in his throat as he feels the crushing strength of Freiza, his powerful fingers grasping so hard, Vegeta is certain a moment his jaw will be shattered, whatever attempt to break free dissolving into nothing as he's held easily in place.

Fear paralyzes him then. 

He doesn't understand what's happening.

“A little small, isn't he?” Freiza says, bending down to examine the prince more closely. “Are all you monkey's this size at his age?”

King Vegeta turns, his face a mask of barely controlled rage as he looks on at the lizard handling his son, his mouth a tight line of obvious hatred.

Several seconds pass without an answer, and Freiza at last straightens, looking back over his shoulder at the king.

“... He's small for his age.” He finally answers, voice clipped. “He'll grow.”

“Oh, I certainly hope so. You're certain of his power level? Even I was bigger as a child. He can't weigh more than twenty pounds.”

The king's face remains impassive, revealing nothing beyond the hatred in his eyes.

“The boy is nearly as powerful as I am.” He answers flatly.

Freiza clicks his tongue, laughing lowly.

“Not very impressive, then.” He says, amusement thick in his voice.

What? Vegeta thinks, his fear instantly evaporating, replaced by a sudden, consuming rage.

How dare... how dare this thing speak to his father in such a way, how dare he speak so to the King of the Saiyans... 

Unbidden, Vegeta feels his power surge, exploding out of him.

It's a large enough expense of ki that it should have blown Freiza clean away from him. It had done, to other, full grown men whom Vegeta had begun to train with, learning his first, basic fundamental's. 

Freiza's grip doesn't come loose. No step backward even. Like he hadn't been hit with anything at all.

The eruption of anger dies instantly away at the amused grin the lizard wears, along with it his display of power, and with the realization of what's just happened, fear, real fear, is quick to follow.

The smile is all the warning he gets.

Something hits him across the face, though what he doesn't know. He never saw any movement.

Only knows one moment he'd been standing there, and now he was sprawled on his back, smashed up against the back wall, the world spinning in sickening circles around him, pain like fire searing through his jaw, up into the back of his skull and radiating down into his spine. He tastes blood, thick on his tongue, pouring down his throat, and he feels sick.

He can't breathe.

It takes long seconds for him to understand that the noise of desperate, strangled gasps is coming from himself.

“Vegeta!” He thinks he hears this father's voice, more distressed than he's ever heard it before, and then the sound of the creatures loud laughter, echoing off the walls of his skull, making the pain somehow worse.

“Consider that your first lesson, little monkey. Had I wished it, you would already be dead.”

 

//

“No!... NO!”

Vegeta struggles, pulling back, trying desperately to break free of the man's hold. Only he's as helpless against the green skinned bastard as he was against Frieza, his efforts yielding nothing but a tighter hold along his wrist, threatening to break the fragile bones within.

He'd seen this man before. Always at the lizard's side, along with another, grotesque looking being, that one bearing bright pink skin and spikes running over his bald scalp. 

Vegeta screams, lashing out and driving the heel of his foot into the man's shin.

It actually works, the man's grip loosening.

Vegeta stands frozen a moment, shocked at his success, before his brain kicks into gear, and he turns then, running as fast as he's able. He knows it's cowardly. Knows he should be ashamed. But he's frightened... He wants his father...

He doesn't understand any of this. Doesn't understand what's happening.

Father, he... he'd said... he'd given...

“Vegeta, I need you to be strong. You are to go with Lord Frieza, back to his planetary base of operations. You are to remain there for the foreseeable future, to receive proper training in order that you might join the elite ranks of his army.”

Vegeta had shamed himself, he knows, for the way he'd begun begging his father not to send him away, crying like a pathetic child that he didn't want to go.

“Please... please Papa... please, I don't want to go. I don't want to, do not make me! Do not send me away!”

Father had slapped him, had told him to stop making a spectacle of himself, to stop bringing shame to their house and name. 

Vegeta had tried. But he hadn't understood, and when he'd asked his father why, the King had told him nothing, only made vague promises that they would meet again someday. Told Vegeta to wait for him.

And then he'd been torn away, forced from the palace, dragged through the streets of the capital and brought to Vegetasai's docking station.

Reality had set in then for the prince.

It wasn't some cruel joke, wasn't a dream.

They were taking him away from his home, his family, away from his own kind... taking him somewhere he didn't know, to be kept by... by Frieza, and his men... alone, he was being taken alone.

The Saiyan people had stared back at him, at the procession of Frieza's men as he'd been pulled through the streets, looks of alarm and dismay on their faces.

None had taken action, none had stopped to free their prince.

He's nearly to the entryway of the docking station now. Just a little farther, he thinks. A little farther, and then he can disappear in the crowd. He can...

There's a searing blast of heat against his back, paralyzing pain, and a moment later he's lifted off the ground, blown forward to crash headlong into a thick metal wall.

Vegeta blacks out, the world fading, the pain, mercifully, with it.

//

When he wakes, he's being dragged along the ground by his tail, the world spinning and the wrong side up as he blinks rapidly against his blurred and fractured vision. It's only a matter of seconds before the pain hits, and he gasps against the intensity of it, his mouth filling with thick saliva.

He's going to be sick, he thinks, panic snapping through the fear, and he flails, trying to turn over.

Somebody curses harshly, and a moment later he's being dragged up off the ground, fresh agony shooting down the length of his tail and into his body, freezing him.

He swings up through the air, and his vision goes white, a weak whimper slipping past his lips as the face of the green skinned man swims into view before him, sneering and hateful.

“Stupid monkey, what do you think you're doing now?” He hisses, giving the boy a hard shake, the pain ripping more powerfully through his body with it.

Vegeta chokes, and a moment later, he's throwing up, unable to stop it.

“Disgusting.” He hears the man say. “Dodoria, you take him for now. I don't want the animals bile soiling my outfit.”

“You're such a prissy asshole Zarbon.” Vegeta hears someone else say, before he's being jostled violently, thrown through the air, only to be caught in someone else' arms, squeezed too tight underneath their hold.

“Well if you don't mind having monkey stink on you...” 

“What the hell does Frieza even want with the runt?” The man holding Vegeta goes on, ignoring the others comment. He shifts his hold on the prince, so that Vegeta is being held under one arm, carried like a sack of food. 

Vegeta tries to feel anger over the indignation, but the relief from having his tail grasped and pulled is too much, and he can only slump lax and weak. 

The other man laughs.

“He's supposed to be powerful. And talented. That buffoon for a king says a fighting genius.”

The both of them laugh now.

“This little rat?” The one holding him questions. “That's gotta be bullshit. He doesn't look like he could fight his way outta a paper bag.”

“Well, regardless of the claims validity, Frieza wants him.”

“Pain in the ass.”

Again, as their words become more clear, rage overtakes Vegeta's fear, and he begins thrashing again, thoughtless of the beating he's just recently taken.

“Put me down, you fat fuck!” He growls, reaching up to try and pry the man's arm loose. He knows he shouldn't swear. Father would reprimand him for it. But he doesn't care right now. “I'll kill both of you!”

“Hey, hey now!” The man holding him, Dodoria, the other called him, reaches down with his free hand, burying his thick fingers in Vegeta's hair and lifting him up. 

Vegeta howls in rage and pain, swinging out with his arms and legs, trying to land any strike he can on the bastard. Only he's being held at arms length, his arms and legs too short to reach anywhere close.

Dodoria throws his head back, laughing loudly.

“Looks like you have some fight in you, you little savage!” He says, before lashing out faster than Vegeta can see, slapping him hard across the mouth, ceasing the Prince's struggles.

Fresh blood coats his tongue, his vision blacking out, dizziness making his head spin.

Another blow to his temple, and the world fades away again to nothing.

//

He wakes again, and is some place he doesn't know.

It's only a moment as his senses come back to him that the pain follows, and Vegeta moans softly, turning over onto his side, disoriented and lost.

His vision is slow in clearing, the room around him taking shape after long seconds.

He tries sitting up, and pays the price.

He feels the bile surge up in his throat and has only an instant to bend over, vomiting onto the ground. 

All that comes up is a thin, murky liquid, nothing solid, and Vegeta realizes the awful cramps squeezing his stomach are from hunger.

He can't remember the last time he ate.

He lifts a shaking hand to wipe his mouth, and stays there on his hands and knees for long seconds, his breath feeling labored and weak as he tries to gather his strength.

The bitter taste of vomit and copper coats his tongue, his throat dry and aching, and he wishes desperately that he had some water then. Even just a little...

Finally he works up the resolve to try and stand.

He doesn't get very far.

Pushing himself up, he's immediately hit with a wave of powerful dizziness, his balance failing him as he goes crashing back to the floor, the room spinning sickeningly fast.

He lays his forehead against the cool metal of the ground, folding his arms over his pounding, spinning head as he clamps his eyes shut, trying to stop the feeling like he's being spun in relentless circles.

Only it isn't working. He can't remember ever feeling this weak.

He can hear his father's voice in his head though, telling him to get up, to stop being such a weakling, such a coward.

He tries.

He tries with everything he has, pushing past the dry heaving, past the dizziness and spotting vision, past the weakness in his muscles, his exhaustion, past the angry snarl of hunger in his empty stomach, until somehow, he makes it to his feet, and he stands there, trembling, cold sweat breaking out over his small body.

Looking down at himself, he notices for the first time that he's been stripped of his royal armor and clothing, left in nothing more than a pair of under shorts, his boots gone, feet bare.

His torso is covered in deep, ugly bruises, and he realizes the agony of his movement is coming from there, from the repeated blows and blasts he'd earlier taken. His tail hangs limp on the ground, aching, but he forces himself to wrap it round his waist, remembering the lesson his father had taught him.

And with that realization comes the memory of what had happened. 

Father, telling him he had to go with Freiza, telling him he could no longer stay there on their home planet, could no longer stay in the palace, could no longer stay with him. 

Being forcibly dragged though the streets of the capital, struggling to break free, being helpless, too weak, too weak to do anything...

He feels his eyes sting, and his lifts a hand, wiping violently at them, angry at himself.

“Stop it...” he mutters under his breath, forcing himself to examine his surroundings, remembering what Commander Nappa had begun to explain to him about being in combat situations.

“Before you do anything, you must assess your surroundings, examine your environment, determine what your advantages and disadvantages are, what will work to your strengths and how to neutralize the enemy, if there is any.”

The space was small and stark, devoid of any furnishing or decoration, bleak and cold and dead. The walls were made of large metal sheeting, the room windowless, with a single door built into the wall ahead of the Prince, the compression locks thick and heavy. A single, weak light barely illuminated the place from the ceiling.

Listening, Vegeta could hear a low hum, and he knew, after a moment, that it was the sound of an engine. 

“I'm on a space craft...” he thought absently, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach at the realization. 

Where was he?

He turns again towards the room's single door, eying it warily.

He could blast it open easily enough, he thinks. But then... that was likely to alert whoever was here that he had woken, and he didn't know what would happen then.

Glancing up to the corners and round the diameter of the room's ceiling, Vegeta can't discern any camera's, though he knows that doesn't necessarily mean he isn't somehow being watched.

He looks back to the door, and his heart again sinks as he realizes, even if he escapes from this room, if they're in space travel, there isn't any way for him to get off of this ship and back to Vegetasai, not unless he somehow manages to steal an escape pod or something similar. And even if he were successful there, he doesn't actually know how to fly any sort of space craft.

An awful sense of vulnerability washes over him then, a feeling he isn't at all used to, and unthinkingly, Vegeta crosses his arms over his bear chest, backing up until he feels his back hit the wall.

He lets himself slide down it until he's seated along the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest.

He buries his face along the tops of his knees, biting his lip hard to distract himself from the stinging in his eyes.

He sits like that for hours, silent and unmoving, and still nobody comes.

“... Father...” he whispers to himself.

There is no answer. Nothing but the soft hum of the engine, the rest only deafening silence.

//

“Get the fuck outta my way, Zarbon!” Nappa growls, teeth bared in outward hostility.

He doesn't give any kind of a shit if Frieza's right hand man has a higher battle power than he does. If he knows, technically, Zarbon would best him easily in a fight.

He'd been off planet when Frieza and his men had come for Prince Vegeta, several star systems away when the King had contacted him and told him what was happening.

“They've taken him Nappa,” he can still hear his King's voice, broken and thin, like he'd been holding back tears, and Nappa had been stunned into silence, numb and confused and something too close to frightened. He'd never heard King Vegeta sound like that. Not ever, since they'd known each other as boys.

“I need you to go to him. Serve as his protector until I can come for him myself. Please Nappa... They'll kill him. They'll kill my son.”

That was all the commander had needed to hear.

He'd immediately taken off for Frieza's base planet, a tight ball of anxiety and fear trapped in the pit of his stomach. He had been at least three weeks out from arrival. The gods only knew what might happen to the prince in that time. 

He'd had Raditz with him, and the boy had agreed to accompany him without question. Raditz was a fine young man, loyal and proud and strong. Only just aged eleven, but already he was fierce and reliable on a field of battle, with a good head for strategy and patient. 

He'd only ever met the King and his son the Prince a handful of times, being of a lower class of warrior and family, but his devotion to them both was, Nappa thought, second to none, only so proven when he'd been explained to the situation with Prince Vegeta, and Nappa had watched a look of pure rage and horror wash over the Saiyan adolescent's young face.

Raditz is at his back now, as Nappa continues to argue with Frieza's lacky.

Nappy wants to punch the bastard in his too pretty face, only just barely managing to keep himself in check.

“Oh, alright, if you're so concerned.” Zarbon rolls his eyes, gesturing lazily towards a door at the end of the corridor. “He's in there. Through that door. Though I can't assure you against the stench you're likely to find. The little monkey hasn't come out of there for nearly a week.”

Nappa feels his gut clench in dread, his heart stuttering unpleasantly in his chest.

“What do you mean?” He snarls, reaching out and grabbing Zarbon by his armor, jerking him close. “Hasn't anyone checked on him?!”

Zarbon only throws his head back and laughs.

“Of course not. He could be dead in there, for all we know. Lord Frieza seemed unconcerned, and so why should we bother?”

Nappa roars, shoving Zarbon aside and into the wall before barreling past him, his long strides carrying him down the hall rapidly.

He can hear Raditz following quickly behind, though his heart is pounding so loudly in his ears, he's barely aware of anything else.

If Prince Vegeta is dead, if he's failed him, and in turn failed the King, he doesn't know what he'll do. He doesn't know how he'll be able to live with that.

“Oh, and monkey,” he hears Zarbon call behind him in that cloying, sing song voice of his. “if you ever put your hands on me like that again, I'll make you and the stinking little wretch you call a prince wish you'd never been born.”

Nappa doesn't bother replying, refusing to slow.

His prince needs him. Gods, if only he'd been here quicker...

Reaching the door, Nappa feels himself hesitating only briefly, his fear of what he'll find on the other side momentarily giving him pause.

If Vegeta hasn't been out in a week, does that mean he hasn't eaten in a week?

For a Saiyan, especially a growing Saiyan, to go that long without food... It would be nothing short of a disaster.

Realizing the longer he waits, the worse it is, Nappa slams his fist into the door's operation panel.

The thing comes sliding open with a compressed hiss.

Nappa isn't sure what he's expecting, but a darkened, silent room isn't it.

He stands frozen a moment, his apprehension growing.

“... Nappa,” he hears Raditz whisper behind him, voice thick with fear. “what's going on?”

Nappa shakes his head, swallowing past the sudden dryness in his throat.

“I don't know Raditz.” He answers honestly, before finally forcing himself to move forward, into the room.

If Zarbon was fucking with him, and Vegeta wasn't actually here...

The lights come on automatically, and Nappa realizes with a start that they're motion sensitive. Which means...

His eyes land on the unmoving form of his prince, his tiny body laid in a motionless, crumpled heap on the ground, just feet from the door, his face pressed to the cold metal of the floor.

Nappa feels paralyzed a moment, staring wide eyed and disbelieving at the child before him.

I'm too late, he thinks horribly a moment, a sickening, hopeless despair washing through him in a wave so powerful, he's certain he's going to collapse.

Only as he keeps staring at the still form of his prince, he sees, if only just, the shallow rise and fall of the young Saiyans breaths, and the relief that comes then is so strong, Nappa feels once more that he might lose his legs.

“Vegeta!” He seems to regain his voice and the use of his body all at once, and he steps forward in a rush, dropping to his knees at the boys side and reaching out.

The prince feels too cold to the touch as Nappa turns him carefully over onto his back, and the commander is surprised to see the boy's eyes open to slits, staring unfocused and lost up at the ceiling. There's dried saliva crusting the corners of his mouth, and Nappa knows instantly that he's severely dehydrated. 

“He isn't...” Raditz half gasps behind him, alarmed.

Nappa shakes his head, jaw tight in a grim expression.

“No, not yet.” He answers. “But he's sick. We need to get him water.”

“Right.” Raditz replies quickly. “I'll go find some.”

The older boy takes off in search and Nappa keeps his attention on Vegeta, slipping a forearm beneath the Prince's neck and lifting his head slightly. He reaches out with his other hand, pressing the back of it to Vegeta's cheek.

“My Prince...” he starts quietly. “Vegeta, can you hear me?” 

The boy doesn't respond, his eyes glassy. Nappa sees him swallow thickly, and he thinks maybe the prince is trying to speak, only can't for how dry his throat and mouth are.

“It's alright.” The commander tells him, moving the back of his hand to Vegeta's forehead. “Raditz is going to get you some water. He'll be back soon.”

Again, he watches the prince struggle to swallow, and then his lips move, an almost inaudible breath escaping past them. 

Raditz comes back in less than a few minutes, and Nappa is grateful as the other boy hands him a flask filled with cold water.

“My Prince, here...” he starts, lifting the boy's head more. “drink this. It'll help you.”

Carefully, Nappa tips the flask against Vegeta's mouth. The water spills at first, soaking down the boy's chin, but Nappa doesn't give up, and after several, painfully long seconds, Vegeta seems to realize what's happening, and he begins to drink, slowly at first, but as the moments pass, he seems to realize his own thirst, and he begins swallowing in earnest, eager and desperate.

“Hey, hey... easy now.” Nappa says gently, pulling the flask back slowly. “you'll make yourself sick if you drink too much at once.”

The prince's eyes are slowly beginning to focus again, seeming to really see Nappa for the first time as the boy stares up at the commander, blinking rapidly.

“... Nap... Nappa...” He at last says, his voice barley a rasped whisper.

The commander forces a smile to his lips, nodding weakly.

“Yeah,” he answers. “yeah, it's me kiddo. And Raditz is here too. You remember Raditz, yeah? He ain't much older than you.”

Vegeta keeps staring up at him like he can't believe he's actually there, and it's all Nappa can do not to look away, guilt and pain choking his throat.

“Nappa...” the prince says again.

And then he's crying, his eyes welling thick with tears as he reaches for the commander, latching onto him with his small fists, clinging desperately as he trembles.

Nappa grabs him up, hugging him close, letting the boy cry against him. 

He wasn't good at this. At displays of emotion. More than his fair share of times, he'd scolded and even slapped students of his who'd given in to such weak emotional displays over the harshness of their training.

But this was different, and Nappa understood that.

What in the hell had Frieza and his men done?

Prince Vegeta may have only been a young child, but he was as proud and strong a Saiyan as the commander had ever known. In every way his father's son. 

Even when Nappa had beaten him black and blue in these early days of his training, beaten him unconscious...

He never cried. 

Not ever.

Not once.

“I... I want to go home. Nappa, I want to go home.” Vegeta eventually says in a small, weak voice.

Nappa feels his teeth clench, his voice momentarily failing him.

“... I know Vegeta.” He says quietly. “But we can't right now.”

“Why?!” Vegeta wails against him. “Why? I want to go home. I want to see Papa!”

Nappa shakes his head, feeling lost. He doesn't know how to handle this.

“We can't Vegeta.” He repeats hopelessly. “Your father gave me orders to come and be at your side until he's able to come for you himself. But right now...” he hesitates, the words rankling inside his mouth before he can even say them. “right now, Frieza and his men are just too powerful.”

Vegeta looks up at him then, a look of shocked disblief on his young face.

He shakes his head, one of his hands uncurling from Nappa's chest plate, coming up to wipe clumsily at his wet eyes.

“But... but that can't be.” He protests finally. “No, Father is... he's the strongest in the universe! He's the King of all Saiyans! He'll b-beat... he'll beat stupid Frieza up! He'll come for me and he'll... he'll...”

His voice trails off, fresh tears welling in his eyes, and Nappa has to turn away then, his jaw clenching tight at his own helplessness.

Damn it all to hell.

“... Isn't he?” He hears the prince say at last, voice small and uncertain now.

Nappa exhales though his nose, trying to keep his suddenly raging emotions in check.

“He'll come for you someday Vegeta. He's given his word.” He says after a long moment. “Until then, I'm here, and Raditz too. We ain't gonna leave you Vegeta. Not for nothin'.”

The prince wipes at his eyes, his erratic, shallow breathing finally seeming to calm down some.

“You won't?” He asks, like he's truly afraid they will.

Nappa shakes his head.

“We're here for you.” He repeats, forcing a smile. “Hey, we're family, right?”

The prince only stares at him, not saying anything.

He still looks out of it, shaky and weak, and the commander knows he's got to get the boy something to eat.

“Look, why don't we get you cleaned up, and then we'll go get some food. Alright?”

Finally an expression other than abject misery comes over the boy's face, though it quickly falls away again after a moment.

“... I tried finding food.” He says almost inaudibly. “Nobody w-would... nobody would tell me where any was. And then I got lost. S-so I came back here and...” 

Again he trails off, seeming ashamed.

Nappa was going to kill those bastards. He swore he was, somehow.

“Well they'll tell me.” He assures the prince. “So don't worry. Now come on, I'll bet your hungry.”

The boy gives a weak nod, wiping once more at his eyes before he's suddenly trying to stand. 

“Whoa, easy now.” Nappa has to catch him as Vegeta's knees immediately buckle and he nearly crumples back to the floor. “Let me carry you. You're weak from having no food or water.”

Normally, Nappa knows, Prince Vegeta would protest adimently against that kind of coddling.

It's a testament then to how bad off he really is, that he doesn't put up any protest at all, simply letting Nappa lift him up and falling limp across the commander's shoulder.

“Hi Raditz...” he says quietly, greeting the older boy.

“Hi Prince Vegeta.” Raditz greets back just as softly.

He sounds sad.

Nappa can't blame him.

Seeing this done to their prince... the great hope of the Saiyan race...

He doesn't know how any of them could be anything but heartbroken.

//

 

His teeth grind together so hard he thinks for a moment they'll shatter, his fingers curling uselessly against the cold concrete flooring. 

The taste of iron coats his tongue, washes down his throat, and he feels nauseous, the space spinning too fast... too fast around him, and he can't see, can't gain his bearings.

He knows another blow is coming, and he can do naught for it but to curl in on himself and turn away.

The heel of Zarbon's boot collides across his temple a moment later, sending him sliding across the floor, only coming to a stop when he crashes against the wall, the impact crushing.

Vegeta hears something snap, and a strangled, half-swallowed gasp tears from his throat at the violent explosion of pain. His vision goes white, ears exploding with a high pitched, deafening ring, and unbidden, he feels the warmth of thick tears well suddenly in his eyes.

He won't cry... Not this time... 

He hears voices, what he thinks is the sound of footfall echoing through the space. But it all sounds distant and muddled, like he's under water, and he can't make out any of the words.

“Get up, boy!” The voice finally breaks through. Zarbon. Vegeta feels the ball of Freiza's right hand lieutenant rest firmly between his shoulder blades, a steady application of pressure, and Vegeta chokes out at the fresh pain, the tears refusing to stay back, spilling over the edge and sliding down his face, onto the floor. “I said get up!” 

The blow lands against Vegeta's shoulder, and his world dissolves into agony.

It's a moment later that it becomes too much, and he vomits, what little food he'd been allowed that day spilling, half-digested, onto the ground.

“Zarbon, stop this!” Vegeta thinks he hears Nappa's voice shouting across the space, but again the sound is distant, removed. “He's only a child!”

“Shut that face of yours monkey!” Zarbon replies. “Unless you want to take it up with Lord Frieza, since it's under his orders your monkey prince be put through his paces. I thought you claimed the little bastard was battle ready.”

Vegeta can't put down the abrupt, overwhelming urge to run to Nappa, to hide behind his guardian and be protected. He knows it's weak. Knows he should be ashamed for it. But he's so scared, and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn't...

“Nappa...” he whimpers, his voice inaudible to his own ears.

“You green skinned son of a bitch, he is. But he's only just turned five years old, he's only just begun going into active combat. He isn't ready for this kind of training.”

“Lord Frieza thinks otherwise.” Zarbon replies without emotion. “You have a problem with it, take it up with him.”

That's all the warning Vegeta is allowed before he feels the lieutenant’s hand fist in his hair, pulling him by it up off the floor and holding him out at arms length. Pain sears through his scalp before fading into the background as he eats a hard right cross to the face, his nose crunching under the blow, the taste of warm blood gushing down over his lips, vision going white again.

Vegeta can't stop it anymore.

He begins to cry, whimpering pathetically, he knows, but he can't help it, Nappa's name slipping in a weak moan from his lips.

“Zarbon, that's enough!” Nappa finally roars, losing all restraint. The giant Saiyan steps from the wall and moves threateningly towards Zarbon and his charge.

Zarbon only laughs.

“You monkey's are so pitifully undisciplined.” He says smoothly. “Here, if you want the wet rat so badly, take him.”

Without warning beyond that, the lieutenant rears his arm back, tossing Vegeta like some unwanted rag towards Nappa, barely giving him time to react.

Still, Nappa manages to catch Vegeta in his arms, pulling the small child to his chest, cradling him closely and tight.

Vegeta wants to cling to him, but he has no strength left. Not enough strength to even hold on.

He hangs limply, head lolling forward against Nappa's chest.

“It's alright...” He feels Nappa press his mouth against the crown of his head, speaking softly. “It's alright my Prince...”

It doesn't feel true, and Vegeta feels sick again as he thinks, panicked for a moment, that Nappa is lying to him. But Nappa has never lied to him, he's never...

Darkness begins to close in round the edges of his vision then, and his thoughts skitter away.

His body gives out entirely before the world fades away to nothing.

/////

They weren't going to finish in time.

Vegeta had known that yesterday.

Stupidly, he'd hoped, if he and Nappa and Raditz only worked harder, focused harder, they might be able to avoid this. But this planet's defensive forces were roughly three times as great as the statistics provided them by Zarbon had indicated, their fighters as well in possession of far greater battle power, and it was taking the three Saiyan's longer than the allotted two days Frieza had given them to complete their mission.

Vegeta steps aside, avoiding the clumsy blow of his opponent, turning as the man stumbles past him with the momentum of his missed swing. The Saiyan shoots a lazy ki blast at the idiots back, not even bothering to watch as his physical form disintegrates with the intense heat.

If they were allowed to shift into their Oozaru forms, they could have wiped out this planet's population in less than a day, but Frieza needed its natural resources in tact, and the risk of damaging the ecosystem here was too great for that.

Vegeta was able to control his ape form, but Nappa and Raditz couldn't. And while he could direct them and their actions up to a point, he was still also an adolescent, and being so, the likelyhood of his two comrades heeding his direction was less than certain. He was their unit commander, but when transformed, the animal drive was powerful, and animals tended not to follow the lead of a kit.

As their unit commander, the responsibility of their mission also fell to him, no matter he was only eight years old. If they didn't finish the purge within the time limit, it was him who would have to answer for it.

Vegeta tries not to think of that now as he lifts a hand, wiping the back of it against his sweat drenched forehead. Something warm and sticky touches his skin, and pulling his hand away, he sees a smear of blood across his knuckles. Whether it's his or someone else', he doesn't know.

Ignoring it, he looks up and around him. 

The field of battle is very nearly empty now. He can see Nappa a few hundred yards from him, putting down some of the last remaining fighters. 

The fighting in this quadrant had being going on for hours, and they had at last nearly done away with all resistence.

Vegeta could only feel relief.

He was deathly tired, his bones hurting along with his joints, and he thought if he had to engage in another, single battle, he might very well collapse. His energy was exhausted.

There were half a dozen more strong holds to purge, scattered across the planet. It would take at least another two days to take care of them all.

The Saiyan prince tries not to think of that either.

He glances at Nappa one last time, seeing his four opponents already put away, and so he turns, stumbling back towards where their pods had landed.

He doesn't think he could fly.

He feels dizzy and weak. He wishes he could just lie down where he is and sleep forever. But that wouldn't be safe, he knows.

The trek back to the pods seems to take forever though, and when at last they come into view, he sees Raditz is already there, cooking a meal over a fire pit.

Vegeta feels his stomach cramp in hunger as the scent of the cooking meat hits his nose, his mouth filling with saliva.

He hasn't eaten anything since that morning.

He drags his legs the rest of the way up the small incline and at last collapses onto his knees across from the older boy.

Radtiz smiles at him, though the expression melts away as he takes in Vegeta's appearance.

“Are you alright Vegeta?” He asks, voice laced in concern.

Vegeta leans forward, cradling his head in his hands.

The world won't stop spinning.

“I'm fine.” He answers after a moment, though he doesn't know if that's true. He doesn't really feel fine.

He hears Raditz stand from where he's sitting and move closer, lowering himself by Vegeta's side a moment later.

Vegeta always feels like even more of a child next to the older boy. Raditz is fourteen and already he nearly reaches Nappa's shoulder in height, already he's grown into a long and powerful physic. 

He feels Raditz put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Vegeta is too tired to protest, leaning against the other boy's warm body.

“Are you injured?” Raditz asks softly.

Vegeta's eyes slip closed. He just wants to sleep. He doesn't think he even has the strength to eat now.

“Idunno...” he mumbles in response.

“Come on. Lay down here and let me look you over.” Raditz says.

Vegeta doesn't move. He's too tired.

He can feel himself being maneuvered, and he allows it as Raditz hooks him under the arms and carefully lowers him onto his back, along the ground.

“Oh, Vegeta...” he thinks hears the older boy say.

The feeling of strong fingers working through his hair only serves to lull Vegeta more towards sleep.

“What happened?” He hears Nappa's voice after a while, but it's distant, like he's standing far away.

“... I don't know. He took some sort of blow to the head I think.” Raditz answers, and he also sounds far away.

The world fades slowly out, and then there's only darkness, and the terror of his dreams to greet him after.

//

“Get out, both of you.” Frieza orders flatly, his red eyes flitting a moment from Vegeta to Nappa and Raditz, kneeling at attention at their prince's back.

Vegeta feels his body coil with an almost unbearable tension.

He'd known this was coming.

They were three days over their due date, having run into yet more rebels near the outskirts of the planet's final outpost.

The Saiyan prince had nearly been sick as he'd been woken from hyper sleep upon reaching base orbit, nausea churning threateningly in his stomach as the prospect of facing Frieza's wrath grew nearer.

Somehow, he'd held it together as he and his companions had marched from the ship docks and through the compound, taking the tram to the next, and then the elevator up to Frieza's personal quarters. But with every step nearer to make their report, Vegeta could feel his control chipping down, his fear taking hold again. He could feel the anxiety rolling off of both Nappa and Raditz too, and it only served to make his worse.

They'd screwed up, and all three of them knew it, though Vegeta told himself it wasn't truly their fault. And it wasn't. But that didn't matter. It never mattered.

Frieza had been alone when the three of them had entered, no Zarbon or Dodoria to add to his company today. Their glaring absence had only driven Vegeta's nerves higher. Frieza must have sent them away, for what reason, the prince couldn't understand, didn't want to know.

He hears Nappa growl low in his throat behind him, and Vegeta keeps his eyes fixed to the floor, praying his guardian doesn't do something foolish.

Nappa was so protective, but against Frieza and his top dogs, it only made things worse.

“What are you gonna do?” The Saiyan commander demands, standing suddenly.

Vegeta feels his stomach drop out from under him, his breath momentarily sticking in his throat.

“Nappa, don't...” he says, voice coming out weak and shaky.

“You would do well to listen to your charge, idiot monkey.” Frieza says, voice the same flat, emotionless tone. “After all, the only one to suffer for your stupidity will be him.”

He motions towards Vegeta with his thick, ridged tail, and it's all Vegeta can do to keep himself frozen still. He wants to run. He knows that's cowardly. 

He can't help it.

Nappa doesn't move, and a mixture of relief and resignation fills Vegeta then.

He knows there's nothing his guardian can do to help him now. 

That doesn't seem to keep the prince from fantasizing that somehow he could, from feeling the disappointment when Nappa backs down, like if only he'd stood his ground, he could have done something... anything...

“Don't make me repeat myself.” Frieza says.

It's all the warning the other two Saiyan's need, both Nappa and Raditz finally doing as they've been told, exiting the room to wait outside, leaving the prince alone.

The sound of the door sliding shut is like the world going dark.

Vegeta doesn't dare to lift his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed on the cool black tile beneath him.

Seconds stretch into minutes without Frieza speaking a word, and the young Saiyan can feel his anxiety threatening to turn to panic in his chest. He listens to the clink of the tyrant's wine glass as he lifts and drinks from it and sets it down again, still saying nothing.

Just as Vegeta feels he may collapse from his growing nerves, Frieza's high, soft voice rings out.

“You failed to complete your mission within the given time constraints,” he starts. “as I'm sure you're aware.”

Vegeta says nothing, keeping his face down, keeping himself as still as possible. Frieza hadn't asked him a question, and the prince knew better than to speak unless directly ordered to.

“Care to explain your tardiness?” Frieza goes on after a moment.

For an instant, Vegeta's breath locks in his throat, his mouth going dry with fear as he struggles to reply quickly enough.

“The enemies defensive forces were... w-were much greater than we were initially led to believe...” he starts, stammering over his words. “We tried to...”

“Are you saying your failure is somehow my fault?” Frieza interrupts him, and Vegeta hears him lift himself up out of his hover craft, the sound of his feet slapping against the tiled floor as he makes his way down the short stair case, closer to the prince.

Vegeta's stomach drops, his muscles seizing in sickening dread as he realizes the trap he's just walked into. He sees Frieza's feet come into view, stopping before him a moment, before he begins moving around the Saiyan, circling him with deliberate slowness. 

“N-no... No my lord...” Vegeta forces the words up out of his tightening throat, struggling against the sudden stinging in his eyes. “I d-didn't... I don't...”

He loses sight of Frieza from his periphery as he circles round behind him.

Vegeta's tail tightens round his waist, the hairs of it standing and puffing with anxiety. He can feel the weight of the tyrant's gaze heavy on his back, and his voice dies in his throat.

A moment later, he feels cold, strong fingers rest gently against the nape of his neck, threatening to close tight.

“You disappoint me child.” Frieza says against his ear, voice a whisper.

Vegeta's eyes slip closed, hot tears running warm down his face.

//

Nappa finds Vegeta crumpled against the door to their living quarters, nearly naked and beaten half to death. The Commander doesn't think he would have even recognized the boy, so covered in blood and hideous bruising was he, had it not been for the telltale petite size of his frame, or his crushed, broken tail.

He's in the infirmary for nearly a week, Frieza refusing him access to the rejuvenation tanks. Part of his continued punishment, the tyrant had said.

Even after being discharged from intensive care, it took nearly a month before the prince was physically well again. Before he could walk without limping. Before he could do even light sparring.

Sometimes, in the months following, Nappa would hear Vegeta in their bathroom, sobbing brokenly to himself.

He would try to hide it, try to muffle the noise behind his hands. Try to wash away the tear stains on his cheeks and the redness from his eyes before coming back out. But Nappa knew. 

He wouldn't talk about what had happened. What Frieza had done to him. Nappa had tried to get him to, tried to help, but the boy would only shut down when he did, his eyes growing distant, almost vacant. He wouldn't say a word then. Wouldn't look at anybody. He sat pressed into the corner of his bunk most of the time, when they weren't out on missions or engaged in the compound, knees drawn up to his chest, face buried against their tops. He would sit with his arms wrapped round his legs, like he was trying to disappear, trying to hide.

He had grown quieter, somehow. Nappa couldn't figure out how. He'd already been such a quiet child.

Now he speaks rarely more than three or four times a day, if that. When he does, his words are always brief and to the point. He's begun to grow distant... removed.

Nappa had seen similar behavior in soldiers who had seen too much battle, too much death and destruction. But those were always men, fully grown, with vast and varied experiences.

Vegeta had only just turned eight years old. And while he'd seen a great many fields of battle already, he shouldn't have been suffering from the kind of obvious anxiety and stress he clearly was enduring every day. 

He didn't act at all like a child. He rarely smiled, and never laughed. 

More concerning still was that Nappa was beginning to notice a mean streak developing in the boy that hadn't been there before.

Sometimes, he would purposefully drag out killing his opponents, for no other purpose Nappa could discern than simply torturing them.

The Commander was failing the Prince. He knew that. He was failing to protect him from Frieza's tortures, from the bullying and harassment of the tyrant's many powerful underlings, and so failing to protect him from the mental and emotional toll of such treatment.

It was Vegeta who, out of the three of them, most interested Frieza, who caught Frieza's attention, and so it was Vegeta who, out of the three of them, suffered the most. By far.

Nappa knew that, if things kept on this way, one day, Vegeta would break.

He would break, and when that day came, the boy could very well become exactly as the one who served to torment him without mercy. Day in and day out.

Nappa could only pray such a day would never come to pass.


End file.
